


The Immortality of Faith

by Eric_Longtooth



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Violence, Comedy, Gen, Ghost wants to join in, Herrah is so proud, His best isn't very good, Hornet is going to stab Pale King, Hornet is the goddess of fighting people, Magic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Pale King is just trying his best, Swearing, no beta we die like idiots, repeatedly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-19 12:42:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29874846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eric_Longtooth/pseuds/Eric_Longtooth
Summary: You cannot kill a god. Not in a way that matters.Radiance’s mortal form was killed completely, an act only another Higher Being could accomplish, leaving her trapped within her domain until the end of time.But what of the Pale King?Stuck upon his throne, spirited away to a hidden realm only accessible to the most powerful of magics.But now, as the child of void approaches what is left of his divine form, the Pale King rouses from his slumber once more.“No cost too great.” The words rung hollow through the cavernous room. The fragment of nothingness stood before him didn’t respond, it didn’t need to.He knew what it thought of him.
Comments: 95
Kudos: 132





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a considerable amount of time watching the ‘Honey I’m Home’ animatic by Icelandan on repeat, I’ve made this… for better or for worse. It’ll be an AU, I’m sure that much isn’t a surprise, but I’ll try to stick to lore where it is convenient.  
> In addition, I’m also going to make a point of trying to keep it ‘noob friendly.’ Describing the characters / not assuming you remember how everyone looked, touching on the events leading to things, etc etc etc. It’ll just be flavour text here and there, but if you haven’t finished Hollow Knight, but aren’t afraid of spoilers, you should be able to read this just fine. 
> 
> Regardless, I hope you enjoy.

The Pale King strode through the palace, his white carapace flashing out from under his concealing light grey cloak with the movements of his lower centipede-like body, each of his legs churning in a dance of self propelling momentum. 

Each strike of his pointed legs echoed against the intricate marble stonework; the only sound ringing through the palace at this hour. 

The King had let one of his hands fall to the curtains filling the walls, drawn over the silver metal frames of the crystal windows. It was cool to the touch, spilling over his chitinous hand as he dragged his fingers along the edges. 

He forced himself to straighten out his back, to push down the ache upon his mind and return to his regal bearing. He had an image to maintain, he didn’t need to exacerbate his diminutive height further. 

The Wyrm remembered when he was taller than most ‘average sized’ bugs… how the times changed without him. 

He wasn’t sure why his wanderings led him back to his workshop. With his so-... With the Pure Vessel hidden away from the light of day, trapping the sickness with it, there was no urgent need for any new experiments. 

Even the Kingsmoulds were more or less pointless now, simply occupying a job the mortals had once filled.

Perhaps they could take the place of his servant in the abyss? It had taken a fair effort to stall the effects of age for that singular mortal, but their willingness and strength of soul could always take up another post.

Without the time limit weighing on their mind, they might enjoy working alongside M-... 

He felt his head drop slightly, his eyes narrowing from within his armoured mask. Right, that wouldn’t work. 

With a shake of his head, the Pale King dismissed the thought. It was worth it. He had finally defeated that annoyingly resilient god, and in time, he may even be able to wake the Dreamers. Once he was _certain_ there was no one left to remember the Goddess of Dreams, they should completely fade and die.

Though he was left to wonder if he would count as someone who would remember… and would remembering the consequences of that Higher Being count as remembering them?

He could only hope that not being worshipped would be enough to kill the damnedable moth.

He pushed through the runes protecting his workshop, the warm white feeling of his own soul magic passing over him plucking the lightest dustings of dirt from his carapace as the door creaked in his passing. 

Inside the room, he worked around the towering forms of Weaver’s silk, careful to not let the points of his looming crown catch upon anything, and towards his desk. It was a comfort to be in such a familiar space, it lightened his heart to smell the cold, minty tang of soul mixed with the bitter tar of void. 

Too many sleepless nights were spent in here, toiling away until his Queen dragged him out by the leg…

He sighed, he could only hope time would let the White Lady return to her old form, to let her walk again and show her beauty to the world once more, instead of hiding away in her gardens. Trying to avoid her grief… or perhaps just him. 

“No cost too great.” He muttered under his breath, the segments of his concave jaw clicking against each other with the utterance. The simple phrase ruled his immortal life for too long, it worked in the end, with three months free of any new infections, but it was a frigid victory. 

He glanced past to the black, glossy surface of his Collector’s egg. There was still work to be done, it was a miracle he had managed to prepare another project in the midst of this cat-

No, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t glossy. He remembered complaining bitterly to himself that he had to carve the damned thing. 

He glared at it, drawing one of his hands back to his chest, his long segmented fingers twitching as his soul began to drip from them. Ready to cast any manner of spells he had created. 

The Pale King approached the egg, his steps slow and his mind ready to react to anything. 

Anything but that. 

His soul fell to the floor, immediately turning to a foggy mist as the unstructured spell was dispelled and consumed by the close proximity to all the void he had stored here. 

He stepped back, eyes wide as he _Saw_ a figure within its depths. Two glowing golden orbs from within the white mask of the Hollow Knight, glaring accusingly at him as cracks grew across the mask. 

No… no that was impossible. It was void, completely without being to infest. This was impossible! 

And yet, the vision stood there within the reflection, becoming more and more broken before, all of a sudden, it broke free. 

The Pale King was thrown back, ripped from the floor even as his numerous legs scrambled for purchase as he flew.

Before he hit the wall, he knew one thing.

He needed another plan. A better one. 

No cost too great.

{-----[0O0]-----}

The Pale King lent back in his throne. The cold steel unrelenting against his chitin as his hands clutched at the armrests, after his vision, the first he had ever seen manifest outside of his dreams, he couldn’t close his eyes without the furious gaze of the Radiance falling upon him again.

It still irked him to no end his foresight counted as ‘dreams’ when dividing up the divine realms of the Higher Beings. Infact, it was one of the many, many reasons he had done his beast to kill the moth in the first place. 

In the darkness of his throne room, he swore he could still hear the cries of his subjects’ outrage after the second wave of infections. 

It was too late now, he had done all he could. But now the only thing left was to…

Retire. 

Fall to a slumber he wasn’t even sure he would wake from.

He was sure the Radiance was eagerly waiting for that, waiting for him to lower his guard and claim a mortal body able to hold her. 

Once upon a time, he was certain it couldn’t be done, especially with her sealed so resolutely. 

But the same Pale King that would claim that, was the one that said the Hollow Knight would succeed. 

With the White Lady having completely given up and sealed herself away from the world, with only one of their loyal knights to protect her, he could feel the draw of instinct demanding he hibernate until she returned. 

If only he had been more careful when crafting this form, he could have rid himself of the biological instincts of Wyrmhood. 

He sighed, closing his eyes and running his thumb and index finger over the thin sheets protecting them. The stress was getting to him. 

Perhaps he could…

No, the soul required would force him into hibernation for sure. 

But maybe…?

He could force his palace into the Dream Realm, specifically the sliver of it he held sole domain over. It would keep him from the Radiance for certain, and if he coupled it with a stasis spell over Hallownest, he would sleep in peace, and wake up not long after his kingdom returned to normal time.

It… might just work. He hadn’t used much soul in a fair while, not since he abandoned work with Void, he should have enough stockpiled to only leave a week or two gap between when the stasis failed and he woke back up… 

Yes… that would do nicely. With rest, he can return to fixing this without having to strain against instinct at every waking hour. 

Soul began to gather in his hands, this would work nicely…

_A trickle of void poked up from the floor, the first of a tide, slowly moving to capture the light that had drawn so teasingly close to it. To the light that fed it devine offspring._

_It only wanted to hold it close. To keep it safe. To keep it all to itself._


	2. King's Knight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, so soon? Yeah, I know, I’m surprised too. I had this half done on my drives, but the quick comments and kudos inspired me to finish it quicker than expected.  
> Regardless, here it is, the first actual chapter to progress the plot. Not to mention, the first chapter with the sassiest Vessel.  
> Edit: added some extra description here and there, was a little bit hasty in posting Dx  
> Edit again: fixed Ghost's pronouns, this is what happens when you try to write half asleep... XD

The Pale King awoke to the sound of tiny footsteps. Like the pitter patter of rain against a thin stone roof… most likely. It had been many, many years since he had been close enough to the surface to hear anything like that. 

He slowly drew back into consciousness, his head lolled down in his throne as his muscles ached and protested loudly. Why wasn’t he in bed? He must have collapsed during court… or maybe he was just too tired to wait until the sanctity of his room? 

He could only hope it was the latter, the former would be annoying to explain to his retainers. Not to mention Herrah would never let him live it down…

No, come on, it isn’t that hard to remember. She was Dreaming, she couldn’t annoy him with her scorn any more. Maybe his daughter would take up the mantle? There was something liberating about someone not being afraid to say what they thought.

Focus. There was something he needed to do… something important…

Part of the Pale King wanted to say it was something relating to the Dreamers, but… ah, that was it. It was Ra-

_THUNK_

The Pale King was sent sprawling to the cold floor as a sharp metal object smashed against the side of his head, forcing him to wakefulness.

“Who _DARES?!_ ” He screeched, his legs flailing in an attempt to right himself as his chitin lit up brighter than the crystals of the Peak Mines. He forced open his eyes to glare at his attacker, who looked… very familiar. 

“Hollow?” He asked in confusion at the bug standing over him. Clad in a dark grey cloak, a full head shorter than he was, and with a white, antlered mask containing two pools of dark, churning void. 

The horns were slightly off, missing a notch he thinks, not to mention it looked more like Hollow when he was first drawn out of the void, but it was otherwise a spitting image. Though this one seemed adept with a long-nail instead of a great-nail, considering the disparity in size, it was hardly surprising.

A nail that proceeded to smash him over the head again. 

“Gah! Will you cease attacking me Hollow! I order you to!” The Pale King hissed, bringing one of his hands up to cover the rapidly forming bruise. He was glad his chitin was so strong, this Hollow was not pulling any punches… or swings, he supposed. 

‘Hollow’ raised his nail once more, threateningly. Its expression blank, the only movement beyond that of the weapon being the fluctuations of the void held back in its eyes by an invisible force. 

“Not Hollow? So another Vessel? How…?” He shook his head, his legs righting themselves as he rose back up to stand and glare at the troublesome Vessel. “What do you-, no, never mind. You can’t want anything. I don’t know what possessed you to attack me, but if you aren’t Hollow, it can’t be… hmm…”

Pale trailed off, shooting another glare at the Vessel who raised their nail again in time to the ‘can’t want anything’ comment. 

The Vessel moved their head as if releasing a silent, exaggerated snort, before resting their nail against the metal flooring and stuck their free hand into their cloak, pulling out a fractured white charm. 

“What? Is that?” The Pale King’s eyes widened in recognition, it was _his_ charm. Specifically the half he gave his wife. His glare redoubled as soul leaked from him, floating around his form as they formed into blades, spears, daggers, and all manner of sharp, pointy things in response to his rising anger. He hissed in a low, dangerous tone as his jaw clicked threateningly. “What did you do to my Queen?”

The Vessel shook his head.

“Glad to know all Vessels can’t talk…” He grumbled, his hand impacting his face with a light ‘clink.’ His free hand twitched, the summoned weapons inched forward with the action, though the Vessel seemed completely unconcerned. “What do… no, it can’t answer that… did you hurt her?”

It shook its head again.

“So she gave you that?” 

It nodded.

“And you are hitting me… to get the charm? Did you think I was dead?” 

It shook its head twice, the only real indication it was two separate actions being the elongation of the action. The Pale King could appreciate the precision of each of the expressions, the effortless care taken to keep every movement exactly the same as the one previous.

“So if you knew I was alive, why were you hitting me?!” He screeched, his shadow elongating and filling the wall behind him as rage clouded his vision and forced his weapons to shake in his magical grip. It had been too long since he actually fought something, he almost regrets the order for no bug to bring up an issue directly after his slumber, the irritation was pleasant, in a macabre way.

The Vessel simply looked to him, rooted around its cloak once more, and brought out a sharp, shiny chunk of metal. 

The Pale King stilled for a moment as he looked at it, before facepalming once more. “The saw blades?”

The Vessel nodded.

He sighed, before rolling his shoulders back and dispelling his weapons. This was ridiculous, he had better things to do than tend to one of his… one of the Vessels. He had to keep moving for the sake of his kingdom. The Lady might want to coddle their offspring, but he couldn’t afford to waste the time. “Vessel, I may not know how you escaped the Abyss, but I do not have the time to waste dealing with you. Go back to the White Lady if you wish, I’m sure she has more time for you.” 

The Vessel stood there unmoving as he waved his hand in a dismissing fashion and walked past it, not even the slight shifting that comes with being alive. The Pale King could remember all the times he was convinced Hollow had died because of that… No, now was not the time for it. 

With his anger and confusion fading with no shortage of swiftness, he could feel the guilt pecking at the edges of his heart. It was going to be a problem, he was certain of that, but it wasn’t as pressing as the other issues clouding his mind. 

First, why had none of his retainers roused him? He had ordered them to wake him up, after all the calculations he did, they should have arrived as soon as he was past the bulk of his hibernation, and thus easily awakened. 

Had they not survived the stasis? Had he awakened before it ended?

Actually, a better question was, where were all his guards? And when had it gotten so dark?

He glanced about as he passed out of the throne room, there should be at least one standing right he- ah. That was a problem. 

The suit of armour had toppled against the wall, thick tracks of steaming tar leaking from every observable hole as the Void, anchored to reality by the equal parts soul he had enchanted it with, slowly dissolved without a form to maintain. 

He couldn’t see any damage on the armour itself, so it must have been from a strike through the eyes. Which should be impossible, considering the amount of damage the void blend could sustain before breaking… it would be infinitely more economical to destroy the armour instead. 

He looked along the path, noting at least another three fallen Kingsmoulds, all in the same condition…

What had happened whilst he slept?

{-----[0| Hornet |0]-----}

_Daughter of Wyrm and Beast_

Ghost had been gone too long.

As Hornet stood watch over the corpse of the Kingsmould, she could feel the strum of anxiety pluck upon the silk of her heart. She didn’t know how their nail worked, nor did she know what exactly Ghost did after using it. 

For all she could see, it knocked them out for a while, leaving their body just… laying there, for anyone to come and kill. 

What logic would lead to sleeping, and by extension dreaming, being something one would do more than strictly necessary was beyond her. The very thought of it forcing a light scoff out from under her breath. 

She was glad she made a point of tailing this Vessel. For one that had made it so far, they didn’t appear to be particularly intelligent on where they take their forced naps. 

In saying that, she did see them fight actual ghosts with that nail, so there was probably some magic to it. 

Hornet didn’t, couldn’t look forward to when it came time to get rid of the Dreamers’ Seals, so it did please some small, illogical part of her that Ghost seemed so insistent on doing just about everything else before them. 

But this didn’t make sense at all. 

To just sleep out the front of a missing castle? Were they communicating with the spirit of the Pale King? Stealing the void from his automatons?

For all she knew, they were bringing back the castle. 

_SHWA-THOOOOM_

Hornet jumped back in fright as an alien noise rang out across the palace ground, leaving her to whip mid air to face the hole that was left of the palace, her mask shielding her as waves of spent soul shot out like the sound waves of echos. 

It stung her eyes, and made her chitin ache as the tiny fibers born of her spider heritage were yanked this way and that by the buffeting winds. It was painful, but Hornet could feel what she could only assume to be her soul singing in euphoria as it tasted the energy passing her by. 

It was nothing like the attacks Ghost had launched at her, that soul burned, made her feel like her lifeforce was trying to curl up inside her like a grub pulling their limbs in after poking them out from the sheets during winter. 

As she landed back on the dilapidated cobblestones, she stared in surprise. She knew that building, she had spent a fair portion of her life there.

Ghost really did bring the palace back.


	3. A Walk in the Park

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t you love hyperfixation?  
> It has its uses occasionally, which is nice. At least on the weekends when I have the time to make use of it.
> 
> With my controllers playing silly _bug_ gers (ha, pun comedy), this is where all my energy is going for the moment, so hazzah! More Fanfiction! Not sure how long it’ll last, but I shall attempt to make the most out of it.

{-----[0| Hornet |0]-----}

_Daughter of Wyrm and Beast_

Hornet knew this was a bad idea.

Even as her red, silk cloak trailed out behind her and her tired legs pushed her forward, she kept her gaze scanning the walkway ahead. It was grand, she could admit that, with the flurries of the Pale King’s power turning the bridge over a gaping hole into something akin to a path across a foggy canyon. Hell, she couldn’t even see the roof above her, only the odd geometric patterns floating in the air like the dead cells from the Wyrm corpse rotting a ways out of Hallownest. 

At least it didn’t smell. 

Everything was so… bright. She had to squint as she ran just to see what was going on, she sincerely hoped whoever thought this was a good idea died slowly. Sure, Hornet was used to Deepnest, where it was considerably darker than even the Forgotten Crossroads, but this was ridiculous. 

Though, she would like to think Ghost agreed with her. After the palace reappeared, his body had just… disappeared as soon as she had stopped looking at it. Thankfully, in the spirit of being a bundle of destruction, Hornet only needed to follow the destroyed lamp posts and corpses to find him. 

And the palace had plenty of both. 

Bugs in white robes with shining white carapaces were scattered about, the retainers she supposed, often with deep scratches in their robes from where Ghost had ‘interacted’ with them. They seemed to slowly be returning to life, like one of the mindless creatures she had hunted, Hornet guessed they had just passed out in fright, and Ghost hadn’t cared enough to verify the kills. 

Though in saying that, a few didn’t seem to be moving at all. Lacking any visible wounds other than a black tar leaking out of their masks…

She really didn’t want to think about what that meant. 

As she progressed, Hornet soon found both actual ceilings she could use to propel herself with, and the corpses of Kingsmoulds. It was interesting to see, other than the one outside, she hadn’t seen any of these in many years. Obviously, Ghost had not been impressed, judging by the deep slashes parting the metal of their armour and the puncture wounds in the breastplates. 

They didn’t seem nearly as invincible now, their curved weapon discarded to the side as they slumped against walls or crumpled in the middle of the hallways. 

Hornet’s chelicerae, small and malformed to barely be strong enough to hold morsels thanks to her hybrid genes, chittered in amusement at the sight as she flew down the halls. Her heart felt light, much lighter than she expected it to be, as she had the freedom to play within these hallowed walls. With no one to tell her off for using her needle and silk like a grappling hook, she was left imagining the righteous indignation of her father as he was left to clean up the mess. 

Perhaps she would find his corpse here? It would be satisfying to finally kick him a few times. Maybe even plant her needle in between the eyes of his mask. Steal that too-long crown of his…

Finding him would be more of a problem however, as even with the obvious tracks Ghost had left in the form of destruction, at times it seemed to disappear or double back. 

The latter was to be expected, the palace was massive and had too many winding routes for its own good, but the former was particularly annoying. 

At times, the path of destruction simply ended in walls. Hornet could assume that it was simply a point that Ghost needed to turn around, except…. Well, on one such occasion there was a pole phased through said wall.

Despite her attempts to break through it, the wall was significantly stronger than she was, so her guess was on magic.

Hornet was not a fan of cheating magic. Ghost’s magic was annoying enough, throwing unblockable walls of pain at anything that mildly inconvenienced them, but this magic? This, ha ha, you thought you could follow your half sibling on their quest to probably get themselves hurt?

It made her want to stab the King’s corpse even harder.

{-----[0| Ghost |0]-----}

_Heir of Shades_

**Father** was very bright.

He talked a lot, and all of his words seemed to be spoken with an ætherial strength behind it, all whilst he gave off such a strong light. Both in a physical sense, and in a soul sense. 

He was much brighter than **Mother**.

But **Father** was very stubborn. 

He fussed over the Kingsmoulds ( _Brother? Void Friend?_ ) like a concerned fly, buzzing over the corpse of their significant other. 

Whenever **Ghost** ( _Sister, Hornet, Sad._ ) tugged at the end of his cloak, **Father** ignored him. 

When **Ghost** tried to poke him with their nail, he grumbled at them and told them he was busy. ( _Annoyance, disappointment, lonely._ )

**Ghost** just wanted the charm so they could leave. They were busy too. ( _Abyss, hungry, heart._ )

Maybe **Sister** ( _Close, running, concerned?_ ) would be able to act as a translator? She was very good with words. 

**Ghost** wanted to be good with words. 

They looked back to the throne room, the motes of darkness and **Void** floating slowly in the air, blocking the windows and leaving the area cold and black. 

The **Void** had been there for a long time, it wanted **Ghost** to come home.

**Ghost** couldn’t do that. There were people depending on them.

The **Void** didn’t understand, but wanted to help them accomplish their goal so they came back sooner.

**Ghost** didn’t plan on coming back to it, but didn’t want to tell it that. 

The **Void** said someone was coming, someone who was very fast and was red and white. 

**Ghost** thought **Sister** ( _Closer, nearly there, annoyed?_ ) would try to reach them, she did have a habit of trying to keep them safe when entering bugs’ dreams. ( _Care, love? Happy._ )

**Father** seemed to have stopped disassembling the dead voidborn, instead rising up with a sigh to look back at **Ghost**. 

He looked thoughtful, his glare accusing. 

**Ghost** shook their head, they had nothing to do with it. At least not this one specifically. **Father** was not going to be pleased when he found the ones **Ghost** _did_ kill, but that wasn’t entirely their fault.

The voidborn attacked first.

{-----[0| Hornet |0]-----}

_Daughter of Wyrm and Beast_

With the trail of destruction scattered and haphazard, Hornet decided it best to investigate the more notable rooms instead of just wandering around aimlessly. So, she had set out to get to the throne room.

It was hardly her favourite place, being a monument to the Pale King’s ego in all but name, but it was also the most memorable place from the time she had spent roaming the palace as a child. And considering Hornet wasn’t ready to try and find anything as obscure as the Pale King’s workshop or bedroom, it was the best bet she had. 

But as she approached, Hornet knew something was wrong. 

The same deaths as before, the ones crying trails of what she could only assume to be void, but this time coming from the empty shells of the soulless kingsmoulds. The artificial knights lay there, dead long before Ghost had walked through here. 

Had they walked into a trap? She could dismiss it when it was the weakling retainers, but this was… this was different.

She couldn’t afford to be afraid, not when she had gotten so, so close to hope. So close to thinking this random Vessel had what it took to finish this once and for all. After she had helped it get the King’s Brand, the mark denoting their claim to the throne of Hallownest…

Hornet instead buried it with annoyance. It seemed after all these years, plus the countless years of stasis, the Pale King still couldn’t do anything right. 

Ran away, sealing their palace off from the world? Good for him, but it seems it didn’t save his servants. 

There was always a bigger hunter, and if Hornet needed to kill whatever had decided to come through this place, she was going to do it.

She had no choice. She _refused_ to give in after everything she had fought through to get to this point. 

And yet, as she rounded the corner and saw the pale glow of her father…

Hornet couldn’t help but be disappointed.


	4. Family Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the nice comments, it really makes my day.  
> That, and makes me want to write more. Feed me positivity, muhahahahahaha!
> 
> Regardless, the moment you all have been waiting for is here.  
> Pale King having to deal with the consequences of their own actions.

{-----[0| The Pale King |0]-----}

_Higher Being of Knowledge and Soul_

From what he could gather between interruptions, the Pale King deduced the Kingsmoulds had fallen due to some level of void sickness. Similar to the sickness he had noticed his servants dying to, during the construction of the lighthouse in the void.

Whilst he knew how to stave off the effects, as well as grant immunity to through the use of his runes and glyphs, the fact that it was effecting beings made effectively completely out of void was concerning.

He hypothesized that the same spells and enchantments would fix the issue nonetheless, but considering not only were these void creatures, they were also in his palace. A place where there shouldn’t be any void anyway.

Not to mention, he had ordered the Abyss sealed off, so it couldn’t be coming from there anyway. 

The Pale King looked back to the Vessel, who had given up on trying to steal his attention in favour of sitting on the floor and staring at him. The Abyss was sealed, he had done it himself, but it might not have stayed sealed, considering the company he currently kept. 

But the Lighthouse should have still mitigated the effects of the void, and considering all the enchantments he had placed on its keeper, it should be able to run for a decade longer still…

Had something happened to it? Did the Vessel snuff out the light?

It was obvious they were far from hollow, able to answer unclear questions, display aggression, annoyance, and generally make decisions for themselves. It wouldn’t be that far of a stretch to say they had managed to find a way out of the abyss by themselves.

The thought that the Vessels weren’t automatically hollow brought a shudder racing across his exoskeleton like Monomon’s stingers. 

But no, The Hollow Knight was pure. It may very well just be a coincidence that he had managed to get the one truly hollow vessel, but it had done its job to the best of its ability. The Radiance was contained for a time, which whilst not the perfect answer it was still progress.

The Pale King may not know how exactly the Radiance was escaping her bindings, but after all the effort put into Hollow Knight, it couldn’t be a lack of purity. Perhaps the void was less all consuming as he had thought.

Perhaps the void had a will of its own?

He sent another glance back to the Vessel that had attacked him, it would explain a lot if it were true. Perhaps between the will of the newborn and the will of the void, sometimes they would cancel eachother out, like they had in the Pure Vessel, and sometimes one would manifest over the other as is the case with this troublesome one. 

Did that mean some of his children died, having a will of their own, unmolested by the darkness of their creation?

No, he couldn’t dwell on that. There was work to be done. He still has to save his kingdom. 

He just needed more time.

{-----[0| Hornet |0]-----}

_Daughter of Wyrm and Beast_

Hornet’s legs pumped onward with rage filled energy. How dare he live? How dare he fuck off with his palace when Hallownest needed him most?

Her wire thin threads of silk and soul lashed out behind her like tentacles on a grand Ooma, only truly visible as the light from the Pale King’s big fucking head glinted off of them. 

Had it not been healthy to repress her feelings towards the greatest failure of the generation? Had it not been healthy to purposefully avoid the resting place of her mother, who to this day still slumbers in an attempt to hold together the clusterfuck of a plan the Pale King had oh so boldly claimed was foolproof? 

Probably not. But catharsis through the medium of grievous bodily harm would probably make up for it.

She twirled her needle, desirously threading one of her silkspools through the eye, before letting the thread feel her intent and tie itself off for her. It might not have as much utility as the Weavers, who had long since abandoned her home, but it was her own brand of magic. It didn’t cheat, it simply did what it was told.

It was different. At least in her opinion. Which, of course, was the correct opinion, because it was her silk and she made it. 

With her weapon properly threaded for combat, she paused in her stride, pulling back her needle like a spear as she glared at her father’s big target of a head. He wasn’t facing her, and knowing him, he wouldn’t even have noticed her yet. 

Perfect. 

Hornet loosed her weapon, letting the needle, nearly as long as she was tall, sail through the air before _CRACK!_ slamming into the side of the pale king’s head, lodging itself firmly in a crack of its own making.

She pulled on it, respooling the thread and using the momentum to fly over to her target, taking quiet joy in the King’s flailing centipede legs as they anchored him. Perfect, it would make the next part hurt that much more. 

“You absolute, _BASTARD_!” Hornet accentuated her curse as she slammed her palm into the end of the nail, cracking his carapace further and lodging the nail even further into his citin. 

Oh she had waited for a _very long time_ to do that.

{-----[0| The Pale King |0]-----}

_Higher Being of Knowledge and Soul_

It was a novel sensation to have something lodged in your greymatter, especially when it was something put there by your direct descendant.

The Pale King could feel his divine white ichor leaking out of the hole in his head, dripping to the floor as the needle, a weapon as long as his lower half, stuck out of the side of his head, leaving his skull feeling bloated and off balance. 

“Ah, Hornet. I didn’t expect to see you here.” He attempted to comment impassionately at the fuming half spider standing before him as he idly brought his hands up to the foriegn object and pulled it free. 

A brief wave of blood joined it as the metal object fell to the floor, coating its blade with a mildly bioluminescent paint that was quickly congealing. His left hand went up to cradle the wound, the white of his soul mingling with the white of his blood as he sealed the hole and regrew the parts of his skull that were missing. 

“What do you think you are doing here? Sitting on your throne twiddling your thumbs? Playing with your toys?” Hornet spat, her head lowered dangerously, like a bull preparing to charge as her long arched horns of her mask broke his eye level in height. She pulled on her thread, yet another thing he needed to study, and flicking her needle back into her hand with practiced ease. She had grown into a fine warrior… if only Herrah was here to see her. 

Speaking of Herrah, that was probably why Hornet was so mad at him. 

“At the moment, I was trying to find out how all my guards died.” The Pale King responded bluntly, quirking his head to the side in mildly irritated confusion as he bit down his anger and pain. For all his complaints with his Wyrm heritage, the upper limit of his pain receptors were a boon, keeping it from being anything more than mildly distracting.

It might have been an issue, but considering you can’t simply _kill_ a Higher Being, especially one of his calibre, pain was a little bit pointless past a certain degree.

“Of course, playing with your toys. Why aren’t I surprised?” His daughter scoffed, throwing her head back in agitation as the eloquence of her vocabulary was discarded in her anger. “Why don’t you leave them, and go do your actual job? Like figure out why _everyone is still dying_?” 

“I was planning to, do not worry.” He sighed, letting his hand fall back to his side as his skull had fully reconstructed itself. “I simply needed to make sure these deaths aren’t because of that leaking void.” He gestured to the Vessel, who whilst didn’t appear to be leaking, he still didn’t trust its form to be stable. Considering all the enchantments he had to place on Hollow Knight when he was that small to keep him from shattering, the Pale King highly doubted it was airtight… or magic-tight? Void-tight?

“You keep Ghost out of this. They are their own person, they’ve proved that many times over as they try to fix _your_ fuck up.” Hornet hissed, idly petting the Vessel between the horns as he had walked over to say ‘hello.’ At least he assumed that was its plan. 

“You gave it a name? No, I shouldn’t be surprised, considering how often you ignored my orders to ‘play’ with the Pure Vessel.” It was now his turn to scoff, stepping forward threateningly as his head twitched back to being straight. “That thing you are petting is the void given physical form, child. You are effectively petting the incarnation of the most destructive force of nature we have ever witnessed.” 

“You lost your right to call me a child when you failed to clean up after yourself!” Hornet counter, her needle jabbed out to accentuate her point. “You might not have told the common bug, but I was there when you confessed to the Dreamers that, surprise surprise, all of this was your fucking fault!”

“Hornet! Language!” He admonished in lieu of actually addressing her points. She was right, he was a failure, but the ends justify the means. Once he had finally gotten rid of the damnable moth, it wouldn’t matter how he had gotten there.

“What? Did you only just notice the swear? What about when I referred to this whole thing as your _fuck up_? Or when I called you a bastard?” He watched her eyes, hidden behind her mask, roll in annoyance. “Are you just not paying attention to me? Again? Has so little changed?” Her words seemed to suggest sadness, but the Pale King knew better, the tone only had room for anger with him. 

“I don’t need to explain myself to you child.” He responded dismissively as he pushed past her, this conversation as a lost cause, he needed to get back to his workshop. Make some guards, and then check the bindings on the Black Egg. So many things to do, so little time. 

“You just refuse to acknowledge what is right in front of you, we both know who is right here, and it certainly isn’t you!” Hornet hissed after him, but didn’t move from her spot. The tiny Vessel, Ghost, still holding onto her side. 

She would need to forgive him one day, the Pale King didn’t plan on dying any time soon.


	5. Works in Progress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are in motion nowww. Writing Hornet is an experience, trying to balance the ‘I am trying to copy my Mum’ and ‘I’ll bite your knees off, fucking try me’ is difficult, but it is fun none the less.  
> PK on the other hand, is just some serious dumb fuck genius vibes. Yeah, he can literally create life out of void and probably cast more spells then you could even imagine, but he is also really, really dense.  
> Like, jeeze.  
> Still, I think they make a fun pair to write. Ghost just kinda vibes like the little background character they are. The cutest background/main character.  
> They are important, don’t get me wrong, but like  
> They don’t talk, and just go with the flow. You can’t tell me that isn’t some serious background character energy. 
> 
> Whatever, enjoy Hornet scheming and PK being a dumbass.

{-----[0| Hornet |0]-----}

_Daughter of Wyrm and Beast_

Hornet, with her half sibling in tow, made her way to her old room. It was a little ways off, on the far end of the palace with the rest of the guest rooms, because in the end, it was just that. A converted guest room.

Whilst this had its own problems back when she had lived there full time, particularly before her previous molts, she was glad it was large enough to hold her as a teenager, even with company. She wasn’t even sure if her room back in Deepnest had enough space for her to stand anymore. With how easy it was to rearrange furniture with their webs, they had gotten a little lax in future proofing buildings.

But that was a problem for later. 

As of current, she had sat down where the floor met the wall, savouring the slight discomfort of the filigree decorating said wall digging into her back. It reminded her of camping trips with her mother’s retainers, giving her a taste of the land in all its dirty, hard-edged glory. 

A slight smile flashed across her maw under her mask as she remembered how uncomfortable the Devout were about the entire endeavour. Fussing needlessly over her, offering soft things only to be denied by her own stubbornness. Their faces when she had disappeared and came back with a dead Tiktik was incredible, if only she had been old enough to see how amusing it was.

Regardless, Ghost had laid claim to her bed. Having collected all of her pillows into a pile, where they sat half submerged, only their bone white mask visible as their empty eye sockets seemed to keep her within line of sight, even as they turned to investigate the rest of the room. 

It wasn’t much, very white, very bright, with a bed, a dresser, and a closet on the far end of the room. There were a handful of personal effects, such as a carving of her mother’s six slitted mask carved out of a Vengefly King’s blackish carapace, or the multitudes of cloaks her mother had made for her in the closet. They were in a wide range of sizes, all more or less the same as her current one in style, but designed to be familiar in their similarities. 

Hornet remembered her mother saying they would always be there to remind her of where she came from, but she really ought to get some new ones as well. Claiming something along the lines of not wallowing in the past forever…

Hornet hadn’t known at the time, but with her mother stuck in an eternal slumber to keep the binding of the infection strong, the cloaks were a welcome comfort against the uncaring world. 

“What do you plan to do from here, Little Ghost?” Hornet asked evenly, keeping her tone taut like a thread. Not stressed, nor angered, but firm, urgent only in the sense that taking too long would raise her ire, not urgent as in lives where on the line. She wasn’t sure she could pull it off, as she simply had copied it from what she could remember of how Herrah had spoken when she was Herrah the Queen, Herrah the Beast, not Herrah the Mother of Hornet. 

She’d be happy if she could capture even a fraction of the presence her mother had. 

Ghost ruffled in the pillows for a moment, pulling out a shard of a marble disk, decorated like the masks Hornet had to wear when she was dragged along to the King’s speeches. With lines scattered around the eye holes in careful geometric patterns, topped with some sort of sash. 

It was split down the middle, missing half the face, but it still seemed to radiate power. Weak power, but it didn’t pulsate like other soul relics, but instead shone like an enchanted crystal. It may not hold much visual similarities, Hornet knew it was related to the Pale King somehow. 

“So you need the other half, am I to suppose it is currently held by the Pale King?” She continued questioning, unconsciously straightening her posture off of the wall as she crossed her legs. 

Ghost nodded, revealing their other hand and miming a ring over their fourth finger. 

“It’s a ring?” She questioned, her brow furrowing and scraping against the inside of her mask before she shook her head. “No, that's not right, do you mean its like a… wedding band or sorts?”

Ghost nodded, seeming pleased that they were understood. 

Hornet wasn’t entirely sure how she was able to understand what they meant so easily, especially when the person who spent so much time with Vessels didn’t have a clue. That of course being her Father. 

Perhaps it was just a sort of sense between siblings? Because she had nothing to do with the void, she hadn’t even been allowed in the general vicinity to the seal containing it. Or maybe she had just spent so much time trying to understand Hollow back when she was much smaller and he had wandered the palace with her…

Whatever, she had a direction now. 

“So the charm was the… egotistical god version of a wedding band between the Pale King, and I assume the White Lady?” Hornet summarized, already mentally mapping out where she would need to travel to visit the grieving Goddess of Growth. 

Ghost nodded, confirming her suspicions. 

“Well, Little Ghost, perhaps we can get the White Lady to talk some sense into father. It would give her something to do other than hide away from the world at least.” Hornet half suggested, rising from her seat as she prepared to go do exactly that. It would be a bit of a trip, and convincing the goddess to leave her sanctuary may be difficult, but she had faith that the return of the Pale King would be enough to sway her. 

Ghost tilted their head to the side, pointing to Hornet and then back to the broken charm. 

“I am not going to ask the King for the charm.” She shook her head in turn, grimacing slightly. Asking him for anything would just be a waste of time at this point. Not to mention it is now a matter of pride, and if she could get the Queen to tell off her husband… It would be blackmail material for the ages. “It is much more efficient to get the Queen to do it for us. Not to mention, she needs to return to the palace eventually, this way we can accomplish two different goals in one sweep. It is simply the more effective option.” 

Ghost didn’t seem convinced, but didn’t look like they were about to silently complain about it, so Hornet considered it a victory of sorts.

“So we shall leave immediately. I assume you had already reopened the Stagway to the Gardens?” Hornet asked as she stood, straightening out her cloak and reequipping her needle into its holster along the small of her back. She wasn’t entirely sure how Ghost had managed to resurrect the old Stagways, the toll machines had never seemed to work for her, but the convenience granted by them was considerable at the best of times. She might not be a fan of actually _using_ the Stags, especially when she could just use the clear passages without them, but she couldn’t take passengers, so Hornet could make an exception this time. 

Ghost nodded, emerging from their cocoon of fluffy pillows to stand themselves, eager in their own way to get a move on. 

“Good. We should be able to get there before Father even noticed we were gone.” Not that it would be an achievement, privately Hornet seriously believed they could leave for a week and would return to find out the Pale King hadn’t even left their workshop once during it. 

Whatever, they had things to do.

{-----[0| The Pale King |0]-----}

_Higher Being of Knowledge and Soul_

The Pale King had forgotten how flighty his subjects were around him. The scurried, stammered, and did their damndest to avoid him. All but tripping over each other to go do literally anything else but stand in his presence.

Were he a superstitious sort, he would have guessed he had a ghost following him, scaring them all away from his presence. 

But, in the end, he wasn’t. So instead, he blamed it on them fearing his wrath after they forgot to wake him up once the stasis had fallen. It could have only been a week or so between the end of the stasis and his awakening, but the point remained.

He could have been doing things in that time.

So, to an extent, yes, he was angry. He wasn’t going to smite any of the shrivelling fools that had called themselves his most devoted, but he wasn’t going to tell them that.

Let them stew in their fear, that can be their punishment for failing him. 

So, instead of dealing with his servants. The Pale King set to work reviving his Kingsmoulds, it was a slow progress, repairing the damaged glyphs in the armour, reforging the bonds between void and soul, and loading their simple minds with their commands. 

He was glad he had the piece of mind to keep notes on what exactly his commands were. He never expected to have to make _more_ of them, but in their skittishness, it seemed even his mortal guardians had fled from the palace. 

They were a special failure. He had no need for their cowardice, they could go and catch the Infection for all he cared. 

As of the moment, he had three of the automata standing ready, another two currently gathering the remains of their comrades. Some came back with more of their fellows that had been felled without observable reason, others returned with bits and pieces of scrap after someone had somehow slashed them to death.

The Pale King had a strong suspicion those were the direct fault of the Vessel his daughter was so attached to. 

Nonetheless, it was easy work. Tedious at times when he had to recarve runes or replace armour, but it would be over quickly. 

What was once a massive breakthrough in the use of void seemed trivial now, at least when he didn’t need to make them from scratch. It was both amusing in that he had come so far, and disappointing in that they were still so incomplete. More issues to fix, not nearly enough time.

Perhaps he could find another creature like the Mask Maker? They seemed skilled enough in craftsmanship, if he could get them to work with the zealots of the Soul Sanctum, they may just be able to make the kingsmoulds without his input…

Though that would involve trusting mortals to not try and take the gifted knowledge and use it for their own greed… Hm…

It would be something to resolve at a later date. Once he had, say, ten of these automata, he could leave them to guard the palace, set off to the Black Egg Temple and investigate the status of the Dreamers, and then prepare a plan of action.

Between the three Dreamers, if they all still lived, which is likely considering the effort he put into keeping them safe, he wouldn’t be able to access the Hollow Knight. So if he wanted to check how the Pure Vessel was containing the Radiance and her Infection, he would probably need to go wake up each of the Dreamers. Since he hadn’t exactly planned to need to do that, it would take some time to unravel his own spellcraft, but as long as he had the time to do it properly, they shouldn’t even die during the process.

That would probably ‘win’ him some points with his wife, and by extension Hornet. That girl always preferred the White Lady to him. Not to mention, he would effectively be ‘un-killing’ his daughter’s biological mother, which he assumed would probably make her happy. 

Though in saying that, Herrah would probably be livid that the plan didn’t work… perhaps it would be best to wake her up last. 

Regardless, he had work to do before then. He can leave the order of awakening the Dreamers until he was certain it was necessary.


	6. Roots of Fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha ha, tree pun.  
> Honestly I have no idea how I am managing to make these so fast, it used to take me a week at best to write a chapter of anything…  
> Hmm…  
> Oh well, it is what it is. Not sure how long I’ll keep it up, but so far I’ve been able to keep to it pretty well. 
> 
> Enjoy Hornet not having a good time.

{-----[0| Hornet |0]-----}

_Daughter of Wyrm and Beast_

Hornet had mixed feelings on Ghost reopening the Stagways. On one hand, the passageways made for highly convenient transport routes, but on the other hand, Ghost… Well, was a child about the entire situation.

As she stood there, filled with the second hand embarrassment of knowing someone who was currently in the midst of being an idiot, whilst Ghost rang the bell to summon a Stag.

And rang it.

And rang it.

For nearly an entire minute, they stood there. Swinging their nail, which she had seen tear through the infested husks of the kingdom’s Sentries armour like butter, to smack the bell over and over. _Somehow_ not even scratching the copper and tin alloy as they indulged in their childish antics. 

It was mortifying. 

Hornet could feel her embarrassment turning to rage as she pointedly stared directly ahead as they waited. Under her cloak, she could feel her fists twitching as she had to forcefully remind herself, ‘ _yes, this is the greatest hope for the kingdom. You can’t just kill the potential saviour of everything you know and begrudgingly respect._ ’ 

Though as the seconds drew on, she was highly tempted to. 

Thankfully for Ghost, the thundering gait of many legs heralding the coming of the stag, the incoming noise seemingly enough to knock the Vessel out of their silent revelry. As the beetle emerged, Hornet took note of the precarious placement of the seating. 

With three legs either side of a reasonably sized thorax, for something sized to easily carry four bugs at a time, the creature’s carapace covered most of its body. It had two ‘horns’, one on its thorax and one on its head standing proudly, with the rest of the head being, oddly enough, quite fluffy, like the chest fluff of a moth, with two long ‘ears’ that hung down to below its chin. The fluff made it look comical, but it wasn’t at all helped by the fact that the seats were placed and strapped directly on top of its abdomen. 

It looked like it would be a bumpy ride even at a sluggish pace. 

The stag huffed as it slowed to a stop before looking around, passing over the pair standing there the first time, before finally seeing them in the second pass. It explained the ever so slight greying of the creature’s chitin, Hornet wouldn’t be surprised if it was the oldest stag in service, ever. “Greetings little one, have you brought a friend with you this time?” 

Ghost nodded eagerly, rushing up to grasp one of Hornet’s hands with both of their own, before pulling hers out of her cloak and in the direction of the stag. 

“Oh? You look… familiar. Have we met before, miss?” The stag asked politely, lowering its head slightly to look to the floor as it addressed her. Hornet couldn’t help but wonder if did that for everyone, or if it actually did remember her. 

“Perhaps, I cannot say for certain.” Hornet responded neutrally, her voice a little gruffer around the edges as the vestiges of her anger and embarrassment faded. “We wish to travel to the Queen’s Gardens, can you make the journey, stag?”

“The Queen’s Gardens you say? I remember the route well, our mutual friend had only opened it recently.” The stag nodded resolutely, leaning downwards to allow better access to the odd pair. “Friends of the one who has given my old heart such joy, opening the Stagways and letting me accomplish my job once more… You may travel with me as much as you wish. Though I can see the look in your eyes, you would prefer to travel alone, would you not?” 

She fought down a flinch as she let Ghost drag her up into the front most seats, closest to the centre of mass and the least likely to shake hard enough for her to be parted from her chitin, before responding. “Little Ghost cannot travel as fast as I can on foot. This is simply more convenient.” 

“Ghost you say? I am glad they have a name.” The stag returned with a misted tone to his words. “They are a good bug, it would not do for them to go nameless. Great things come from those with names, and I may be old, but I know greatness when I see it.” 

“You aren’t wrong.” Hornet chittered back, her maw working slightly in amusement as she looked back to Ghost, who was excitedly tracing their route across their map. Names were odd things, some creatures would go their entire lives without one, such is the case with the Stag she presumed. Some would discard their name and instead hold a title, such as the Pale King or White Lady. Others would only earn a name or title if they had accomplished something of renown…

She remembered the ceremony where she was granted her name. It was her reward for graduating from her training with Vespa, a bee Queen who at the time had been renowned for her talents with abnormal fighting styles. 

It had been after the Dreamers had fallen to sleep, but Hornet knew Vespa and her mother had discussed what she would be named in length. 

She had been so happy, even if the ceremony had only been attended by a few of the Knights and the Midwife, who had effectively become her teacher in the ways of her homeland whenever Hornet could convince the Pale King to let her go back to Deepnest. 

Hornet would need to visit her again, she had to make sure she was still… alright.

{-----[0O0]-----}

Once the pair had made it to the Queen’s Gardens, Hornet felt like a brick of ice fed into a blender. Or perhaps a grub taped to the edge of a fan blade that was left on high was more accurate?

She stood with uneasy legs after the stag had slowed to a stop, stumbling her way down the side with such (lack of) elegance she had completely forfeited the need to climb carefully down. Instead, the ground was happy enough to catch her, because the ground was nice like that. 

Ghost in contrast, seemed to all but flutter down after her. Their ethereal wings letting them glide to the floor with ease, only further cementing Hornet’s distaste of cheating magic. She was certain they didn’t have those the first time they fought, or they did, and they were showing off how much better they were. 

Either way, Hornet was tempted to peel them off. But, knowing Ghost, they would just find new ones, because they are either the luckiest bug in Hallownest, or were cheating. Somehow. 

They carefully poked her in the side after waving off the Stag, letting the large creature go off to do whatever it did when it wasn’t carrying people around. It elicited a groan from Hornet, but otherwise she didn’t move from her place face down on the floor.

Hornet vowed to never use the Stagway ever again. She was designed to walk, run, and occasionally fly through the medium of silk. She was _not_ made for that abomination, nor the severe dizziness that followed. 

“Just…. Give me a minute, Ghost.” She groaned, this was going to be a long day, she just knew it.

{-----[0O0]-----}

Once she had recovered enough to move, Hornet and Ghost had navigated the gardens with ease. Hornet could remember the path like the back of her mask from all the times she would just… sit, watching the Queen’s cocoon of exile, considering if it was even worth the effort to talk to the one who acted like a mother figure for most of her life…

She shook her head, banishing the memories as they walked up to the massive, house like cocoon. It was crafted of roots and wood, each weaved into each other to create an impassable wall, with only a small round hole acting as a doorway. 

Near the door, surrounded by the corpses of dozens of mantises, Hornet noted the lifeless cadaver of one of the Great Knights still sat like a puppet with its strings cut. The pale white armour of Dryya stood out like a spider in the City of Tears, especially as the branches of the Queen’s form stuck out in odd angles from the orb. Each like a fragment of all that is holy, condensed into a tree-like limb that, for all its whiteness, emitted no light but instead held no shadow. No matter how the light hit the branches, they always seemed perfectly lit from all sides. 

Hornet remembered when the Queen had her branches contained to a pulled back nest of ‘hair.’ Slick like the carapace of a Shadow Creeper, neatly arranged with only the bare minimum wildness to show that it was its own entity. 

Oh how things had gotten out of hand. 

Ghost seemed eager to enter, swaying slightly on their heels as they looked between Hornet and the orb, silently asking permission but not quite willing to leave her side after she had fallen off the stag. It was adorable in a sense, and Hornet couldn’t deny it was considerably easier to keep track of them, now that they couldn’t pinball around the tunnels with all their cheating magic abilities. 

Sure, Ghost had so many charms on them that it made the tips of Hornet’s fingers tingle just being near them, but seriously, some of the stuff they do is insane. Like, for example, at one point they had just become completely immune to acid? What?

“I’m coming Ghost, save your fussing for someone who needs it.” Hornet grumbled light heartedly, continuing her walk from where she had paused to reminisce. Ghost of course shook their head at her reprimand, just like they had the last five times she had said it. 

But, Hornet could feel herself dragging her feet nonetheless. Sure, she knew this was going to be easier than talking to her father, and she also knew she couldn’t just tell Ghost to do it, regardless of how good at charades they may be…

But she still didn’t want to do it.

Hornet knew she didn’t have the choice though. What was that saying the Pale King was so fond of proclaiming at every possible opportunity? No cost too great? She felt that fit right about now. 

As she passed through the doorway, the first thing Hornet noted was that it was much dimmer than expected. The room war largely dominated by the White Lady, seeming more like a tree in the general shape of a bug than an actual creature, even with the firm bindings of greyish brown tree bark covering everything below her neck acting as ‘clothes.’ A pair of clouded, sapphire blue eyes immediately locked to Ghost, tracking their movements as they wandered over to her. 

The Pale Queen, White Lady of Roots and Growth, had become exactly what her domain stated. Her roots dug into the dirt below her, her branches filled the room, and it looked like she couldn’t move even if she wanted to. 

Ghost ran up to the tree lady’s bound legs, placing their hands on the bark as they looked up to her face. 

The White Lady summoned one of her branches from the roof, the impossibly white wood creaked as it dipped until it pet Ghost in between their horns. “It returns, only one half of my soul in its hand. Has my beloved Wyrm hid so well to be lost to the vessels he had imparted so much of his soul to?” 

Hornet couldn’t help but scoff, “No, Ghost found him. He is just making the process more difficult than we can reasonably handle.” 

The Queen’s gaze raised immediately, settling on where Hornet stood with unrelenting accuracy. “That voice… Gendered Child, is that you? Over the years my eyes have failed me, but I can recognise that voice anywhere. So alike to your mother, to hear you alive even after the ruin that has come to our world would make her so proud, of that I am certain.” 

“It is me, your majesty. But I go by Hornet now, I have outgrown that title many times over.” Hornet felt herself stand a little straighter at the proclamation, she had known it to be true for a while, but saying it outloud made it feel that much more true. “The vessel you’ve been helping, Little Ghost, has found your husband. He is alive and well, but is… irrational as always.” 

Ghost, seemingly disappointed as the branch returned to the roof, instead climbed up to the Queen’s lap. Sitting on the much, much larger bug with crossed legs. Hornet expected the Queen to remove them for that, but she didn’t seem to mind at all. Or perhaps she couldn’t tell they were there?

“The Pale King has his heart set in the right place, that I can assure you young Hornet.” The White Lady leant back, the entire room quivering with movement. “He is under immense strain, you must understand. It may not seem it, but the sins he and I share weigh heavy on his back, and his incessant independence does little to help matters.” 

“If you say so.” Hornet half grumbled, biting back a full retort as she pulled back on the courtly manners lessons from all those years ago. She remembered fondly complaining that her mother didn’t need them, so she shouldn’t either… to an extent she still agreed with that statement. “Nonetheless, he is still halting Ghost’s progress, and now that the Crossroads have been overrun with infection, it is only a matter of time before it progresses too far to be resolved neatly.”

“And so I wish you luck in convincing him.” The White Lady returned, a hint of sadness in her voice. “My husband means well; I have faith that he will listen to you if you are persistent enough.” 

Ghost’s head lolls to the side slightly, much like it does when they ‘slumber’ on the benches around Hallownest. Hornet wasn’t convinced they actually slept, considering it would only be for a handful of minutes at a time, but at the very least that is what it looked like. 

Hornet almost shook her head, before discarding the idea halfway through. The motion wouldn’t be noticed anyway, there was no reason to waste the energy, as minimal as it may be. “Ghost and I considered the best plan of action instead would be for your return, White Lady. It is dangerous for you to stay here, with the infection taking root in both the Fungal Wastes and Fog Canyon, it is only a matter of time before it reaches the gardens.” 

“That will not be necessary, my knight is more than capable of protecting me. Unn’s protection may well be enough to keep the Radience’s influence at bay, there is no reason to move.” The room creaked again as the Lady shook her head lightly, leaving Hornet glad she could scowl under her mask. 

“We know Unn’s protection is meaningless against the infection. The Mosskin have been suffering for years now, if Unn could protect them, they would have done so long before now.” Hornet countered with annoyance, her voice adopting a strained edge. “Not to mention, Dryya has been dead since even before Hallownest had gone into stasis. You are alone here.” 

“Has she… I see…” The White Lady whispered quietly, taken aback at the news. Hornet was tempted to continue with saying that the Lady couldn’t see, she could feel her mother tempting her from her shoulder, but refrained. “I… cannot move. My roots have grown deep and they will not yield me easily. If I am to move, it shall be with my husband’s loving hand, none other.” 

Hornet sighed, that was… annoying. But it was progress, and truth be told, she was uncertain how comfortable she would be hacking her surrogate mother’s limbs off so she could fit in the Stagway. “Understood. Ghost… Ghost shall stay with you, I will return with the Pale King.” Perfect, now she won’t need to use that Gods-forsaken Stag again. 

“Of course, the little one will slumber safely with my branches, Hornet.” The Queen nodded, a slight flicker of a smile crossing her aged face. “Be swift.”


	7. Of Glyphs and Runes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PK really do be trying his best… he just kinda sucks at the ‘people’ part of his job.  
> I am curious though, would y'all want to see the Godseekers in this? What about the Grimm Troupe?   
> But before then, we have some Ghost… kinda? Not really.

{-----[0| **The Void** |0]-----}

_The Final Omega_

The pools of black churned far below the kingdom of Hallownest. The tar of void slowly twisted and shifted in unknowable whirlpools far below the surface, keeping the sea of the Abyss ever moving, all the way down to its roots within the core of the planet.

Its children, shades of vessels who had died long before they even left infancy, wandered aimlessly across the shores of their own corpses, leaving the sea to be the eye of the storm. The centrepiece to the soundless, macabre dance. 

The lighthouse, a foolish invention by a foolish god, stood quiet and dead. Towering nearly all the way to the roof of the cavern, infested with the void it was built to contain. The once shining white stonework stained black with the living, impassable darkness that filled the room so thoroughly in ways that the infection could only wish to emulate. 

The void was slowly, slowly growing. Its tendrils were slowly consuming the most important places in all of Hallownest, the seat of power, and the egg crafted of its own flesh. 

It had held the slumbering corpse of the Wyrm in one, and the trapped mind of the Old Light in the other. 

The Wyrm had escaped, by the intervention of the Void’s Heir, but had yet to notice its influence. He had yet to gaze through his own eyes at the darkness that held so tightly to the insides of his mask, and so the Void continued to See. 

It ate at the precognition of the God of Knowledge and Soul, stealing it away for itself as it slowly, slowly turned the Pale King to nothingness. 

It didn’t know what his Heir was pursuing, but it cannot See any endings that have the Pale King still breathing. It could See the ascension of the Heir after the influence of the Godless, it could See the Heir returning to the Void after the Halfbreed and it had killed the Infested Vessel.

It could even See the Heir trapped within the Egg. 

The Void would not allow that ending, nor will it allow its Ascension. 

The Void had held power since before the beginning of time itself, in time, it will hold power as all life returned to its embrace. 

It will not be removed. 

It was eternal.

{-----[0| The Pale King |0]-----}

_Higher Being of Knowledge and Soul_

The Pale King was glad he had held off on leaving before he had his guards ready to protect his palace.

It was a little tedious to get to the Egg Temple, even with his teleportation, as it seemed every time he had tried, all of the spots he attempted to teleport to were obstructed. It wasn’t harmful, thankfully he had modified the spell to dispel if it couldn’t find a safe spot to anchor to, but it was highly concerning. 

So, instead he teleported to a town he recalled being nearby. Dirt-something or other. 

He arrived in the town centre, his radi- _no,_ his… light, that worked, his light flared as his spindly legs made contact with the cobblestones, momentarily blinding those nearby and granting him a moment to observe his surroundings. 

It was… modest, he supposed. Most of the ‘grand’ buildings were directly attached to the town centre, including a Stagstation as well as a store that looked to sell glasses, if the oversized spectacles attached to the roof were any indication. 

Just outside the town, following a direct path conveniently enough, was the access to the crossroads, and by extension the Temple of the Black Egg. It appeared to be a simple well, a bit decrepit, and with what seemed to be a mercenary standing next to it. 

They seemed quite top heavy, with a firm breastplate and thick pauldrons as well as a tall round shield at their side. 

Most likely a newer mercenary then, The Pale King discarded the thought of bringing them along. Chances were they would die as soon as something actually challenging arrived.

Without sparing a moment for his subjects who all but fell over themselves once they beheld him, the King scuttled over to the well, disappearing into the depths to discover why he couldn’t teleport anywhere near the temple.

Thankfully, he got his answer quite quickly.

It was because everything was infected. 

Large, bulbus orbs of sickly orange ooze pulsated all around him, twitching and shuddering as if ready to burst. The air was thick with a concoction of decay-smelling haze and neon orange motes of infection. 

It was worse than he had imagined. 

The Wyrm summoned his soul to his palms, arcane glyphs forming and orbiting the rapidly forming orbs of power, shaping and directing the energy in preparation for what needed to be done. He hadn’t completed something like this since the early days of the infestation, usually his subjects were smart enough to burn the dead to keep them from festering… keep them from turning the very soil against him. 

But it didn’t matter, he may not take any joy from the action, but it was still a good source of stress relief.

With his spells formed, he let the orbs begin to discharge soul, the white liquid immediately catching alight with powerful, magical flames. The infection didn’t stand a chance, shrivelling and bellowing black ash as the flames ate it faster than an arsonist in a library. 

He didn’t take joy in the action. 

But the silent screeches of the Radiance echoing across the Dream Realm did. 

He dispelled one of the streams of righteous fire, leaving a hand free to come up to his throat, quickly enchanting the area with purification spells to cancel out the smoke that was quickly consuming the area. 

The infested husks and creatures however, had no such blessing. Those that didn’t burn instead choked to death, dropping to the dirt haphazardly to await his attention. His attention would find every single inch of this cursed place, his heat and wrath would envelop every nook and cranny. 

If he were honest, he would say he was glad it was here of all places to be infested. With the crossroads being so close to the surface, he didn’t even need to bother containing the smoke and ash. Instead, it would naturally find its way to the sky above. He wasn’t certain how often it would stick around, but a little bit of acid rain didn’t hurt anyone too bad. If they weren’t smart enough to avoid it, then it would simply be natural selection. 

Gods he needed this catharsis, he could almost feel himself grinning. Take that, bitch.

{-----[0O0]-----}

The deed had taken a little longer than the Pale King had expected, especially when it came to removing the root systems of the infected plants, but in the end, it was necessary. It wouldn’t do for him to be attacked in the midst of inspecting the seals.

Speaking of the seals, he surged his centipede-like legs as he passed through the meticulously carved arch of the temple. At a glance, he could see all three of the masks remained illuminated upon the blackened rock of the Egg’s door. 

The door was simple in its own complexity. Appearing to be an oval shaped obstruction sealing a large crack in the glossy black shell of the egg. It was covered in channelling lines, arches of all sizes, reaching across from left to right of the oval, broken up only by three dents holding the white masks of the Dreamers. 

The mask of Monomon, a simple design of two eye slits with another pair situated directly over the first.

The mask of Lurien, a single elongated circle in the middle, like a massive eye watching the world.

And the mask of Herrah, three sets of slits, each exactly the same, set in two even lines down the middle.

They were slightly different to the real things, he admitted that much. Monomon’s secondary slits were slightly larger, Lurien’s was smaller, and Herrah’s slits weren’t all exactly the same. But considering how quickly he had made the door, the Pale King couldn’t bring himself to care for such inconsistencies. 

He reached a hand forward, placing his palm on the middle, a little bit below the masks. The door, something he had no doubt would count as an arcane artefact of the first degree if anyone cared to quantify it, immediately lit up in a dance of lines and symbols. It looked like the root system of his dear wife, back before they had travelled to found this kingdom, with thick, long lines with minimal change and countless tiny marks that arched and curved around to fill the surface as if it was strangling out every possible resource out of it.

He looked it over with a careful eye, mentally tracing each root and mapping it out in his mind. It seemed intact, no one had even bumped any of the Dreamers, at least not with the significance required to start causing problems.

It was a good sign, it made the process to unravel it significantly easier. But it didn’t change the fact that he would need to make his way to each Dreamer individually to free them from stasis. 

He sighed, that was going to be tedious. Especially if Deepnest was still as angry at him as they were the last time he had been there. 

Though, in saying that, at least he didn’t have any mantis Dreamers. The constant attempts on his life when he visited their village were tiring in the extreme. They never amounted to anything, nor will they, but they never seemed to understand that. 

Regardless, it would probably be best to go to Lurien first, considering they were in the City. It would allow him to check up and make sure the infrastructure was all holding up correctly, especially since he wasn’t certain the runes holding the lake at bay would survive the stasis. It wouldn’t be enough to flood the place _too bad_ , but it would be annoying to walk thou-

A voice spoke up from behind him, Hornet’s specifically. “Pale King, you need to come with me.”

He sighed once more, how hard was it to be left alone to work on fixing things?


	8. Interlude 1: Godseeker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shorter chapter today, have lots of things I need to do, so I figured I’d smash out a quick interlude to show what else stirs below the surface.

{-----[0| The Godseeker |0]-----}

_Voice of a Thousand Minds_

There was a light, They could feel it within their very bones. 

In the darkness of their cocoon, their shell of brass and the blessings of dead gods, the Godseeker awoke in darkness, seeing only light.

Their shell ached, compressed from all sides. They had grown, the cocoon which was once spacious had been left stifling, compressing Them like the darkness had back in the Land of Storms.

But, They could not panic, They were the vessel that held Their entire civilization together, the one who took the minds of Their fellows when the frail had fallen along their long quest to find a new god. 

They flexed Their new, magnificent body, feeling Their cocoon strain under Their might, but it did not break. There was something keeping Them trapped, binding Their cocoon and turning it into Their prison. 

That would not do.

They struggled, letting Their limbs push against the sides of the prison as well, feeling the complaints of the brass ring through shrieks of metal before… with an almighty thundering of a shattering relic, Their eyes could see what Their mind had conjured. Light!

It wasn’t the same light, it wasn’t the beacon of godliness that had summoned Them from their hibernation, but it was light nonetheless. 

Their cloak shifted around Their massive bulk, as they rose from the floor to stand and gaze out upon the land. They were surrounded by trash, shell, metal, stone, it didn’t matter. Discarded chests lay next to street poles, emblems of Hallownest dimly reflected the light next to the corpses of slain bugs, long since rotted down to just their shells. 

How fitting, They had survived where these crawlers had fallen. They had emerged from Their slumber, large and beautiful in Their bulk, where the others had simply rotted to nothing. 

Truly it was a sign this place was where They needed to be. 

But, there was a job to do. The light had summoned Them, and it was not the beautiful orange that had reflected in Their brass. It was white, it was pale, and it was free to move as it dictated. Perhaps this was the god that had trapped the perceived God of Gods? They knew a similar light had drawn them to this place, but the beacon They had followed in the storm had been fading. Struck by cords of black nothingness. 

They had assumed that the orange god had slain the Pale One, as it had glowed so brightly alongside it, but was growing stronger by the day, instead of fading.

But perhaps They had been incorrect? 

The orange god still lived, yes, it even grew stronger still. But it was trapped. They could see that now. 

The Pale One was not, in fact, it seemed to hover outside the containment of the orange one?

How odd. 

They could feel Their Godtuner was no longer required, it hung heavy on Their neck and seemed inert. Perhaps Their time within the cocoon had evolved Them beyond the need for metallic contraptions? 

Perhaps that was why They could see the Pale One’s movements now, perhaps They were all the stronger for Their time waiting. 

The Pale One seemed busy. A smaller spark of white, marred with spots of black and split down the middle with mortal blood, buzzed around them annoyingly, perhaps an offspring of some kind?

But, They could see the pale one’s domain. A pillar of power, a building so deeply infused with the Pale One’s light that it must be their seat of control over the kingdom. It was below, deeper into the Nest of Hallow. 

That would be Their destination. They will meet the Pale One and judge if they truly were the god they seemed to be.


	9. A Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, had met up with a friend over the weekend and they were highly distracting. Regardless, here’s a chapter chock full of daddy issues (mainly daddy’s issues) and Hornet trying her best not to commit patricide.

{-----[0| Hornet |0]-----}

_Daughter of Wyrm and Beast_

The Pale King wasn’t at the palace, instead, he had left behind reanimated guards who were about as helpful as a bag of dirt during a famine.

The Kingsmoulds, could answer yes or no questions, which was useful. But considering she needed to know _where_ he went, it was significantly less so. 

Especially when one realised that they had no sense of geography, so simply asking ‘is he in the City of Tears’ wouldn’t give an affirmative, even if he was. Instead, the correct question would be, ‘is he in the town hall of the City of Tears?’ 

But even then, if the King had gone to a less specific place, such as a bathhouse, you would need to know the exact name of the house in question if you wanted to get an affirmative of any kind. 

Had Hornet been a lesser bug, she would have attempted to split these tin cans open like a gutted fish. Unfortunately for her blood pressure, she was not, and as thus would not get the satisfaction of murder.

Or intensive property damage? 

There was a reason she avoided the legal side of ruling, even now she couldn’t threaten dismemberment without questioning what crime exactly it would fall under. Even after all these years, she still managed to remember her father’s boring lectures. 

Regardless, Hornet was left with only a vague sense of the Pale King having disappeared from the palace to do something important… at least by his standards. 

She scratched at the lowest point of her mask, her carapace making the shellwood emit a creak which, honestly, didn’t help her thought processes at all, but she had seen other bugs do it when they were thinking, so it didn’t hurt to do it as well. 

It wasn’t like any of her close family were able to teach her how to properly pass in terms of buglike mannerisms. With both the Pale King and the White Lady being gods who were more clueless than herself, her mother simply not caring for the practice, and the Midwife only really being around during the very early days of Hornet’s life. 

She really needed to stop procrastinating. 

Well, he was still in his own world trying to fix the infection, so considering the usual single mindedness that the King held for problems, they would most likely be trying to work on it. Usually that would be in their workshop, but she had already checked that so it must be something he would need to do in person. 

Visiting the Dreamers weren’t out of the question, but Hornet seriously doubted he would do it out of the kindness of his heart. It was more likely the King wanted to either try and find some clue with the moths, or perhaps check the temple for any damage. 

Hornet would normally stick her bets with the moths, especially since she knew one was still alive, but she doubted the Pale King would even think about it considering how adamant he was against trying to get the Moth’s help in the first place.

So the temple was going to be the first port of call, seeing as it at least sounded plausible. 

Which also meant she needed to trek to the other side of Hallownest… again.

Hornet sighed, grumbling under her breath how Ghost’s plan better be worth it.

|=.=.().=.=|

After another journey by needle and silk through the more-or-less abandoned Stagway, Hornet was standing at the base of the well’s chain, glaring around suspiciously.

Everything was, to an extent, on fire. 

It was an improvement since last time she was in the Crossroads, with a severe lack of infected bugs trying to claw off her mask as well as a general absence of her least favourite shade of orange. But at the same time, it left her concerned on the exact details of _how_ and _why_. 

Sure, burning the infection had been something in place since the very beginning of this debacle, at least if what her grubhood teachers had told her was true, but these days bugs were too afraid to be anywhere near the stuff, let alone stick around long enough for a complete purge in flame. 

She kicked the side of a blackened husk, silently watching in curiosity as the shell caved in and partially disintegrated at the touch. 

Hornet wasn’t sure if this was a good sign that she had come to the right place, or a sign that whatever she was going to find would be long dead. Though in saying that, if everything was _dead_ that would mean she wouldn’t need to talk to the Pale King, and could instead make like the respectable Deepnest bug she was and rob his corpse. 

Unfortunately she doubted a little fire would kill that stubborn bastard.

So, as she approached the temple, she looked wearily at the cavernous shattered window panes that once looked out to the world like staring eyes. The temple seemed more or less unchanged, still emitting a low light from the doorway, still looking like a skull with too many oddly placed horns, and still coloured black, even with the addition of the ash. 

It was comforting, she supposed. 

But as Hornet walked into the prison of her half sibling, her breath hitched at the sight of the three masks, more importantly her mother’s mask, flickering in its place upon the egg’s door. The Pale King stood before it, a hand raised as he looked over the enchanting white runic lines of the seal, his influence leaving the masks, the symbols that the Dreamers still yet lived, to flicker like dying candles. 

She steeled herself, it seemed she had come just in time. 

“Pale King, you need to come with me.” Hornet demanded, her eyes narrowed and her hand resting upon her needle. If she needed to drag this petulant child all the way to the Queen’s Gardens, then _by the Beast she will._

The Pale King sighed, his head turned slightly to glance at her in the corner of his eye. “What do you want, Gendered Child? I have important matters to attend to. There is no time to indulge in whatever drivelry you have concocted.”

Well, he wasn’t in a good mood. Falling back on the passive aggressive insult of ignoring Hornet’s name in favour of her old title, it wasn’t the most original move, but it still left Hornet’s spider hairs prickling in agitation. 

“The White Lady has requested your presence.” Hornet spat in turn, sure she hadn’t been all that polite, but at the same time, fuck him and his shitty attitude. She was tired, she was sore, and she was trying _really hard_ to not become predictable in grievous bodily harm towards Higher Beings. “You are to stop twiddling your thumbs and come with me.”

The Pale King looked back to the runes, pushing his hand into the stone of the door, making the marks flare as a two dimensional map of Hallownest slowly formed in front of him. With his disproportionately large head and blindingly distracting ego blocking her sight, Hornet couldn’t tell what exactly was special about it, but it wasn’t important. “She can wait. I am busy.”

“She _will not wait._ You have been requested, and you are going to go. Because unlike you, the Queen actually knows what the fuck she’s doing.” Hornet hissed, twirling her needle out of its holster, dramatically pointing it at the Wyrm. “Now stop fucking with the only thing keeping my- _the Dreamers_ alive, and move your lazy shell out of here.” 

“No.” The Pale King responded simply, bringing his other hand up to manipulate the projection of a map. 

“What do you mean _‘no’_?” That was it, fuck it, Hornet is becoming the Goddess of Beating the Shit out of the Pale King. She’s gonna do it, and she is going to be the best at it. She began pacing forward, approaching the Higher Being of Being Dumb. If she was going to kill him, she would need to get closer. “Did you misplace your brain when I rammed my blade through it? Or are you seriously just that shitty of a person to completely ignore the very idea that anyone other than you knows how to fix this?”

“You can say that all you like Child, but I am going to fix this, and despite your incessant needling, I am going to do it in a timely fashion.” The Pale King growled back, dispelling the map and turning about face to glare at Hornet. Because of course, he thought he deserved to be indignant. Because, _of course_ Hornet was at fault. “So stop disturbing me, or I will be forced to dispose of you.”

Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be? Death threats. 

Hornet jutted her head to either side, elicting cracks as her exoskeleton flexed. “Bring it on, old man.” 

Oh she was going to enjoy this.

{-----[0| Ghost |0]-----}

_Heir of Shades_

**Sister** was hurt! ( _Anger! Kill! Consume!_ ) 

They came back into **Mother’s** grove pushing **Father** from behind. He was also injured ( _Amusement, happy, laughter._ ), with his gait lopsided without half of his legs on one side, and an arm missing entirely. His robes were stained even whiter with his blood, but **Ghost** wasn’t sure if that was just because of his soul tainting it or if it really looked like that.

They leaped off of **Mother’s** lap, dissolving into void as he dashed through **Father** to get to **Sister**. She flinched ( _Not normal, bad, hurt!_ ) as **Ghost** reached as high as they could to make grabbing motions at her mask.

It didn’t look good, missing an entire horn so close to the base **Ghost** could see it leaking ichor profusely. It was half bandaged with silk, much like the rest of **Sister’s** body, so she probably ran out of silk half way through, but it did little to ease **Ghost’s** concern. 

She lent down, granting access to her wounds as **Ghost’s** hands, crafted of void and darkness, lit up with glowing soul before they applied it to the wound.

Just what had happened to these two?


	10. The (actual) Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pale King is salty, the White Lady is the closest thing to a responsible adult, Hornet is still ready to fight God… again, and Ghost is wishing they could speak so they could properly tell their sister off for fighting said God.
> 
> Perhaps crossing the genes of the stubbornest God and the only mortal to have the sheer spite to glare them down was… a bad idea? Maybe?  
> Oh, also Godseeker. Because I heard y’all were having too much fun and decided to fix that.

{-----[0| The Pale King |0]-----}

_Higher Being of Knowledge and Soul_

The Pale King was a toxic mixture of enraged and giddy.

It was these feelings that had killed his sibling, long before he had ascended to godhood. It was the feeling that had made him settle down with his wife after trying and failing to kill her after three cycles of the moon.

It was the feeling he could only describe as the one that follows a good fight. 

A good fight that didn’t involve any trickery or indirect attacks, unlike the one he waged against the Radiance, it was one that he had missed ever since he had shed his old form. 

It was amazing… but it also enraged him beyond belief. 

How _dare_ this insolent child strike him? How dare she wound him so, after he had so mercifully ignored her previous slights? 

The Pale King clenched his remaining hand as he glared about the room. It was, more or less, exactly how he had remembered it after he had originally followed after his retreating love. The Vessel was… tending to the Gendered Child… hm…

He didn’t think Hornet would have had the guts to order the child to heal them, especially so quickly. He had tried his best to not kill her, limiting his power to simple spellcraft and his natural weapons, but he must have done a number on her to work through her pride enough to order such a thing. 

Serves her right, he supposed. 

Regardless of the idiocy of his offspring, he turned to the White Lady, beholding her form for what felt like the first time in an eon. “My Root…” He whispered, slowly, uneasily making his way forward to stop at the base of her seat, a hair’s breadth away from touching. “It has been so long…”

“My Wyrm, it is good to hear your voice again.” The Lady returned softly, her tone warm but tainted with hints of sadness on its edges. “I had feared you were lost, but to know you are alive and well fills my heart with joy.” 

The Pale King stared into her sightless orbs, he had been negligent, hadn’t he? He remembered when he would cast his spells to maintain his lady’s sight every morning… When had he stopped? When had he become so busy that the White Lady had all but returned to how she was when he was still all but mindless? “I am sorry… I should have made more time for you.”

“That was never the problem my dear, foolish Wyrm.” The Tree Goddess sighed, shaking her head slightly. The movement dislodging a few leaves from the roof to flutter down around him. “But we can do this together. I have been too passive, too content to wait out the gale as it broke my branches… Now it is time that I move my branches myself, instead of waiting for the wind to do so.”

“What do you mean?” The King asked in turn, subconsciously tilting his head to the side slightly at the proclamation. 

“I need you to free me from my bindings. I will come back with you to the palace, and we can work on this together.” The Queen answered simply, a light, soft smile crossing her face. “You aren’t the only one who was working to fix this.” 

The Pale King returned the smile from behind his mask, finally he would be able to convince people to leave him alone to fix this. He’d take some advice from the White Lady, perhaps modify his approach to be a little more personable with her help, but ultimately be able to do what he needed to without any further interruptions. 

Perfect.

{-----[0| Hornet |0]-----}

_Daughter of Wyrm and Beast_

Everything hurt.

Picking a fight with her father was most likely not a great idea, Hornet could admit that… privately. To herself. And no one else. 

But at the same time, she won that fight. So she counted it as worth it. 

Hornet wanted to at least pay attention to the two gods in the room and quite possibly eavesdrop on whatever they were talking about, but unfortunately, Ghost had other ideas. She had been silently forced down to sit in the dirt and moss whilst they fussed over her. 

It was odd, considering usually by the end of their fights they made no real indication of care for her wellbeing. Though, in saying that, she didn’t usually stick around after them, so that might just be her fault…

Her pride boiled and frothed, aching to lash out and fight the treatment, but… well, the soul was pleasantly warm and enjoyable to interact with.

So she would put up with it for now. 

As Ghost ran one of their soul covered hands over the crack in the back of her mask, Hornet let out a muffled purr of pleasure as the shellwood creaked and grew back together. It always amazed her how much her mask felt like part of her, originally she had thought that was just a side-effect of having one that completely enveloped her head, but Hornet did remember hearing about bugs needing time off work for their mask to regrow…

What magic that Mask Maker wielded, to weave lifeless wood into a form that not only gave a face to the faceless, but also made it so it all but became part of them…

As she thought that Hornet mused when was the last time she had taken her mask off, the fact that she couldn’t remember was… mildly disconcerting. 

She resisted the urge to shake her head. Damn this warmth, it was making her soft. 

Hornet focused directly upon Ghost, who was slowly circling her, stopping occasionally to shift off her makeshift bandages to apply the glow of her hand to the wound. It felt… odd, in a good way. It didn’t hurt in the slightest when they touched, instead, as if its heat was a sort of honey, it stuck the warmth to her flesh, letting it sink into her and dissipate, leaving the wound numb. 

Even through their blank sockets, Hornet could feel Ghost’s disappointed gaze. But, whenever she tried to meet their glare, they were treated to… nothing. Deep pools of nothing, not even the light sheen of eyes hidden by a mask were visible, leaving only a darkness so all encompassing she swore she could see it churn and shudder. 

Safe to say, she quickly looked away. It may be a non-vocal admittance of guilt, but Hornet couldn’t bear to look to wherever her half sibling had for eyes. 

For a mute though, Ghost was quite adept at seeming amused.

{-----[0| The Godseeker |0]-----}

_Voice of a Thousand Minds_

They were being denied by emissaries of the Pale One.

It was the Pale One’s divine right to deny any they wished, but this time, their golems, a black creature clad in white armour and so deeply infused with the Pale One’s powers they were like streetlights to the Pale One’s beacon, were denying the only one truly worthy to enter the Palace Grounds. 

It was blasphemy of the highest order!

They could feel Their mortal face, hidden behind the veil of Their own brass mask, a relic They had crafted Themselves to scorn the features their False God had given them, curve and scrunch in agitation. Their spider webs of burn scars creaked as Their chitin moved to express Their displeasure. 

It had made sense when They had seen another creature, one so unsure of themselves they had a mask upon their face as well as one upon their head, be turned aside by the Pale One’s silent Prophets. After all, the dual-masked one had the stench of another on them. The stench of sulphur, acid, and fog. 

But to deny Them?

It must be a test of some kind, it was the only logical conclusion. They were clad in their brass fittings, They had expressed Their desire to worship their lord, and They even spoke in the traditional tongue of High Devotion!

So of course it was a test. 

They knew exactly what it was of course. When it came to understanding the will of the Divine, They were unparalleled.

So of course They needed to find a new way into the palace. A secret passage of some kind, or perhaps an intentional fault of which the Pale One knew only the most devoted would find!

The Godseeker would not let their new God of Gods down, They were the most devoted, with an entire civilization hidden behind their mask, each working in tandem to solve this puzzle. 

Except those heretics that did not see it to be a puzzle. They would be demoted to the lowest pantheon until they become enlightened. 

And that is how the Godseeker had found Themselves holding on for dear life to the bottom of the palace’s bridge. 

It was fine. They didn’t need help. 

They will get to the other end soon. 

They just…. They just needed to chant the Hymn of Protection from Falling-to-One’s-Painful-Death! Yes. That is it. 

Just… give Them a minute.


End file.
